


Interlude

by tinx_r



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinx_r/pseuds/tinx_r
Summary: Knowing Peter has a past is one thing. Meeting it is quite another....





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kormantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/gifts).



> I hope this little offering fulfills your prompt :) Merry Yule!

"Miss Fisher? From Australia? I don't believe we know her?" Harriet put up her brows at Bunter, then looked pointedly back at the novel in her hand.

The perfect servant emitted a quiet cough, and a slight frown was seen to cross his face. "Your ladyship -- "

"Um," said Peter, from the corner, going red and standing up. "Yes, don't you know. Thank you, my Bunter. That is, Harriet, if you'll come with me to the parlour, perhaps I can explain on the way."

"Oh," said Harriet, and put aside her novel. "Really, Peter!"

They went.

Bunter tidied the sitting room behind them. The novel went to her ladyship's bedside -- he'd made the mistake, once, of returning it to the bookshelf. A simple mistake -- Peter dipped in and out of his extensive collection, rarely reading any item cover-to-cover -- and the rule of each item in its place held strong for the library.

The remains of afternoon tea returned to the kitchen, with a careful ear to the parlour in case he was needed. Miss Phryne had, of course, not come for refreshment, or not the kind that came in a teacup -- that was not her style.

There came the sound of feminine conversation, and Bunter could not decide if that was pleasing or disappointing. Miss Phryne had been many things to Lord Peter abroad, not least of them a confidant, and her ladyship had a certain jealous streak. It was not likely that she would welcome this Bright Young Thing as a bosom companion, and Peter's confusion had shown he felt the same.

Still, she was no competition. Peter, ever the jester, with a disturbing habit of tossing his heart where it was not wanted, had nevertheless shared a certain understanding with Phryne. He was not her type and really, she was not his either -- he was ever a white knight, and Phryne, fair lady though she might be, was no man's for the winning.

Peter, Bunter reflected, had been astute enough to see the lay of the land at first glance -- and lay accordingly.

Bunter allowed himself a rare grin. A terrible joke, and one worthy of Phryne herself. A woman, he thought reverently, like no other.

Bunter might not entirely approve of Peter's new Lady, with some of her starts and fancies. But although she had led Peter a hell of a dance, and life certainly had its ups and downs, it was on the whole a more peaceful existence than he could have ever considered had Miss Fisher been the target of Peter Wimsey's serious affections.

"She would have killed us both," Bunter said to himself with great satisfaction, and headed for his pantry. The fact that it shared a (thin) wall with the parlour was barely worth mentioning.

***

"But of course I'm alone," Phryne said, touching Peter's hand and sending a smile at Harriet. "Jack cannot get away so easily. It was necessary for me to come -- such a drag, but I have been unable to arrange things from the colonies. Really, you'd think it was a hundred years ago."

"Peter is often sent abroad by the foreign office," Harriet said stiffly.

"I remember," Phryne said, with a knowing smile.

Peter coloured faintly and began talking about Rome. He'd never visited the place with either lady. He rather wished Bunter would come in and save him with a phone call, or a dead body in the lobby.

"I think," Phryne said, cutting off a rather clever turn of phrase about the colosseum, "that really we should be plain." She looked at Peter, then turned to Harriet. "I loved him once," she said simply, "but he was never mine to keep, nor would I have wanted him so. I haven't come to upset things, you know. I wanted to see him, and when I heard he was married, well, I wanted to know you. Perhaps that was selfish of me."

"No," Harriet said, and if it wasn't her usual bell-like tone, well, the word was clear enough, and wasn't that all that was required? "I -- I know he has a past, after all. I've become accustomed to meeting parts of it -- although you're the first one who has so readily identified herself," she said, with a flash of humour at last.

Phryne laughed out at that, and Harriet laughed with her, relieved -- as the words had left her mouth, she had suddenly realised they could have been offensive if taken the wrong way.

"Indeed, I have always considered myself soundly in the present," Phryne said, eyes twinkling, "but yes, a part of me remains. I hope."

"I say," Peter said, looking from woman to woman. "I'm over here, don't you know?"

"You are, you dear," said Phryne affectionately, and stood up. "Harriet, I am going to a reading this evening, and supper afterwards. Quite a clever young man; he writes on the subject of memories -- those we keep close and those best forgotten. May I ask you to accompany me?"

Harriet looked from her husband to this strange young woman, so vibrant, so alive. She knew some part of Peter Harriet had perhaps never seen, and that was reason enough. This without even the unusual affinity she felt -- unusual for her to feel kinship so readily with one of her own sex. 

"Why yes," she said, and smiled. "The subject of memories -- it seems appropriate, does it not? I believe I should like that."

Phryne nodded in approval, and stood. "I will call for you at eight," she said. "We shall be friends, I believe."

"Of course we shall," Harriet agreed, and as Peter stood, went to his side. "Thank you, Phryne."

"I'll see myself out," said Phryne, and went out. 

The door clicked closed, and Peter took his wife's arm. "Harriet," he said urgently.

"You're not worried, are you?" Harriet smiled up at him, a sense of contentment stealing over her. Perhaps she should have been jealous -- perhaps she should have stormed out -- perhaps she should have quietly left, and allowed Peter to catch up with his old flame while she pined in her sitting room.

Fortunately, she had never in her life been constrained by what she should have done -- or not for many years now.

"Phryne and I will speak as women do, and neither of us will love you less at the end of the evening," she said softly, and offered a kiss.

Peter took it. "Promise?" he asked, and he sounded relieved.

"Of course," she said against his neck. "How could we?"

"Flatterer," he murmured, and his voice was warm and true.

Harriet chuckled to herself. Flattery perhaps, but it was truth also, although Peter need not know that. 

She could hardly wait for the evening ahead.


End file.
